


To The Sticking Place

by coffeewithdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blushy Dean, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Schmoop, Shaving, Snarky Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 06:16:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10735845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeewithdean/pseuds/coffeewithdean
Summary: Cas needs a shave. Dean helps.





	To The Sticking Place

It was Cas’ idea.

They were on a job, what looked like a poltergeist tormenting a place down in Illinois. The homeowner - a straight-laced guy in his 50s - remarked that he was ‘surprised the FBI hired hippies’. Cas was stumped. Dean waited until they were back at the car to start sniggering. He reached out to ruffle a few fingers through Cas’ facial hair and called him a dirty hippy.

He wouldn’t say it out loud, but Dean kind of digs Cas’ new look. The dark, scruffy beard is thick but not coarse; like it would leave red marks if it scuffed your inner thighs but it wouldn’t itch for days afterwards. Not that Dean’s really thought about it that much.

Still, Cas insists he needs to look professional, figures witnesses are more likely to trust him that way. The only problem being the guy’s never actually shaved before. Before ditching Heaven, Cas could just mind-whammy his follicles to grow and recede at will. At least, Dean _assumes_ that’s how he did it. He never asked.

But Cas is less of a coward than Dean, because he _does_ ask. Walks right into the kitchen one day, shaving cream in hand, and asks if Dean will shave him.

Sam chokes on his coffee.

Dean focuses really hard on not kicking his shin under the table.

“I, ah.” Dean hesitates, staring down into his cup of coffee. “That’s really something you gotta learn on your own, Cas.”

Without even looking, he knows Sam is throwing looks at him from across the table, _hypocrite_ written all over his face.

Bobby taught Dean how to shave. Dean taught Sam. It’s a sort of rite of passage into manhood, Dean knows that. And Cas… Cas is definitely into manhood now. But there’s no way _Dean_ can do it. They’ve been living side by side in the bunker for just a couple months, and it’s already driving him crazy. One of these days he’s going to snap and make a move and ruin the best goddamn friendship he ever had. The longer Dean can avoid that day, the better.

He sets his mug down with a clink, forks some eggs into his mouth. It’s been silent for long enough that he finally risks looking up. Cas’ eyes are narrowed in confusion or annoyance, standing there in nothing but white shorts that have rolled up a little in his sleep. Jesus, Dean's gotta buy this man a robe.

“Look, don’t look at me like that I’m- I’m busy okay?" He says, mouth full. "Have Sam do it.”

Sam scoffs lightly, giving Dean the stink eye. He turns in his seat to face Cas.

“Thin, even layer of shaving cream, make sure you go _with_ the grain. There’s a pack of new razors under the sink, don’t use Dean’s old blunt ones. Go slow," He smiles. "You’ll do great.”

Cas’ face relaxes. “That sounds simple enough. Thank you, Sam.”

Dean looks down at his plate just as Cas turns to leave.

***

The hours after breakfast find Dean in his room, scouring through a box of silent movies he found in the archives. He picks up his phone, considers texting Cas to ask if he’s up for a movie, but almost immediately thinks better of it. Cas. In his room, his sanctuary. On his memory foam. Yeah, that would not go well for Dean.

Unfortunately, Cas has no such reservations. He barges into Dean’s room with a bowl of popcorn under his arm.

“Wha- does privacy mean nothing to you?”

Castiel doesn’t even blink. “You weren’t doing anything.”

As he gets closer, Dean sees the lower half of his face is dotted with red blemishes. Cuts.

He drops the film in his lap. “Christ Cas, the hell d’you do to yourself?”  
  
Cas frowns.

“It wasn’t as straight-forward as Sam made it seem.”

"Did you at least trim it first?”  
  
“... No.”

“Oh my God.”

“Sam said-”

“Nope. You’re banned from touching a razor until further notice. Got it buddy?”

He grumbles. “Got it.” 

“You wanna watch a movie?”

Castiel shrugs a shoulder, offers up the popcorn as he slumps onto the bed beside Dean.

***

Over the course of the next ten days, Cas’ cuts heal and fade, covered by hair that grows in thick and dark.

When he asks to borrow Sam’s razor again, Dean stops him before he gets the question all the way out.

“Nope. Your dumbass is coming with me.”

Dean shoves past him, heads down the hallway to the bathroom. Cas trudges behind.

Dean opens the door for Cas, gestures for him to get inside while Dean busies himself getting supplies. He’s never had a proper barbershop shave before - but he’s seen one on TV. How hard can it be, right?

He soaks a towel in hot water, steals Sam’s shaving cream that’s a dollar or two more expensive than Dean’s and fishes a fresh pack of razors out from under the sink.

“Should I be seated for this or-”

“Standing’s fine. Come ‘ere.”

Cas shuffles closer to Dean, barefeet sliding over tile. He’s dressed in a grey robe, _thank God_ , except Dean’s pretty sure there’s not a whole lot else on underneath it.

His suspicion is confirmed when the lapels peek open to reveal a sliver of tan skin.

Dean clears his throat. Throws the hot towel at Cas’ chest.

“Stick that on your face, it helps… soften the hair, or something.”

Cas eyes the towel suspiciously before wrapping it around the lower half of his face. Steam rises from the towel, turning Cas’ cheeks pink.

“How long am I supposed to hold it like this?” He asks, voice muffled through the cotton.

“Hell, I don’t know, Cas. I’ve never shaved another dude before.”

Cas hums irritably, takes the towel away and lets it drop.

Dean rolls his eyes.

“What were you, born in a barn?” He mumbles, picking up the towel and folding it over the bathtub.

“Alright, so I’ll just…” Dean looks from Cas to the shaving cream. He grits his teeth and proceeds to scoop a few dollops into his palms. He rubs them together, and lathers it gently over Cas’ face. Under his fingers, the muscles in Cas’ jaw twitch.

“‘K, so.” Dean’s breath comes a little quicker. With wet hands, he tears open the pack of disposables and the razors fling out to all corners of the bathroom.

“Shit,” He mutters, scrambling awkwardly for the razors at his feet.

Cas watches, making no move to help, corner of his mouth upturned.

Dean finally unsheathes the safety guard on a razor and leans in close.

“Um,” he says. It occurs to him that he didn’t need to touch Cas this much, could’ve just had Cas put the shaving cream on himself... Idiot.

He shakes it off, takes a deep breath in through his nose. This close, to Dean’s dismay, he can smell his own shampoo on Cas’ hair.

He glides the razor over Cas’ cheek, focusing not on the pulse of the very warm body underneath but rather on the sound of his own breathing. He works steadily, delicately angling the razor around the contours of Cas’ face.

Cas’ eyes are on him all the while, Dean can feel it, along with light puffs of warm breath on his fingers when he shaves Cas’ upper lip. He sniggers when Cas makes a funny face in jutting his chin out for Dean to shave. About halfway through, he realises he should probably be talking Cas through this - tell him how best to tilt the razor, maybe - only he can’t really muster the courage to speak.

As he gets nearer to the fine edge of Cas’ jaw, the hair along his neck, Dean’s hand starts to tremble. Faintly at first, but then so much that Cas notices it in his periphery.

“Are you nervous?”

“What? No.” Dean swallows. “Why would I be nervous?”

Castiel narrows his eyes.

Dean's gaze flicks between them and the skin at his neck.

“I'm just trying not to slit your throat man.”

Dean angles Cas’ head up slowly, drags the razor over his jawline. The sharp angle causes Dean to nick him lightly; a small cut that turns red within seconds.

“Shit. Sorry.”

Cas doesn’t make a sound.

Dean tacks a piece of tissue onto the cut, continues shaving the rest of Cas’ neck and jaw.

When he’s done, he has to clear his throat a few times to ensure his voice doesn’t come out all high and embarrassing.

“There you go, bud,” he says, patting Cas’ newly smooth cheek. “Good as new.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

He looks Cas in the eye for the first time in a while, to find Cas staring at him. There’s something in the way he looks at Dean: amorous and dark. Not the first time Cas has looked at him like that, but he thinks it’s the first time he’s allowed himself to stare back, unchecked.

“Cas, I-” Dean starts, and he has no idea what the end of that sentence is, but it doesn’t matter - Cas’ thumb is skimming his lower lip. It’s warm and large, and it traces the dry skin of his lip, pulls it down a little.

Dean is embarrassed, all of a sudden, but he can't run away because he’s locked in Cas’ gaze.

“Dean.” He says. “It’s alright.”

At that, Dean withdraws from whatever dark places his mind wants to drift to, the door to ‘I’m not worthy’ falling closed with a quiet _snick_. There’s no need for that here. This is Cas, after all.

They kiss and it’s shorter than it should be because Dean has to pull away to catch his breath. After a beat, Cas drags him back in for another. His lips are plump, only a little chapped as they catch and tug on Dean’s. They trade closed mouthed kisses back and forth, noses nudging into one another.

Bravery seems to strike Cas as his hand makes a play for Dean’s neck - sliding up his back and into the short hairs at his nape. He tugs, tilting Dean’s head just so: an offering Dean doesn’t pass up.

At the first tentative touch of Cas’ tongue to his, clarity hits Dean with aching precision. Holy shit, this is _Cas._  Cas’ tongue tickling at the roof of his mouth, Cas' arms enveloping him. Beautiful, unattainable Cas. It makes every other kiss he’s had in his life feel- not wrong exactly, but inadequate somehow. That’s when Dean’s mind whites out and all he can think is a pretty ineloquent _woah._

"Dean,” Cas pulls back, mouth red and wet from Dean’s tongue. “Are you alright?"

Dean blinks a couple times. The warm length of Cas' cock throbs against his thigh.

"Oh," he says, like a dumbass. "Yeah, yeah. Fuck, this is- a lot."

"Do- do you want me to stop?"

"No! God no, come here."

Dean pulls Cas to him, slotting their groins together and gasping into Cas' mouth.

He hears Cas moan for the first time: a low, gruff sound that's part awe and part impatience. It gives him the confidence to reach into Cas' robe.

"Dean."

"Yeah, yeah come on, Cas."

"Let me-" Cas separates them for a moment, shrugs off his robe. "Can I?"

Dean nods before the end of the question and Cas starts tearing at Dean’s clothes.

It's not a large bathroom they're in, and it takes a bit of a jostling to get him unclothed. He steps on Cas' toes a couple times. Not the smoothest Dean has ever been. They're a little giddy and breathless by the time they're standing naked in front of each other.

Taking in Cas’ firm stomach and broad shoulders, Dean gulps.

"Jesus."

"Yeah," Cas says, equally wide eyed.

The next couple minutes are a flurry of movement: Cas shoving Dean against the sink, frotting mindlessly against him while they cling to whatever skin is within reach. It’s not exactly the way Dean imagined it - there's no bed and there's no Zepp playing in the background, just as for instance -  but it’s pretty fucking good.

After - who knows how long - the muscles in Cas’ stomach start to twitch, a line forms between his brows. It’s the same look he gets when Dean makes a dirty joke he doesn’t entirely understand.

“Dean. Dean, I’m-”

Dean lunges up to catch Cas’ lips in his. Feels Cas spill between them, hot and wet all over Dean’s stomach.

Pride blooms in Dean’s chest and it’s hard to keep kissing for all his grinning.

Cas snakes a sweaty hand between them, takes Dean in his grip. After a couple strokes Dean's toes curl against Cas’ shins and he comes with a contented sigh.

They don’t kiss again, not really, just rest their foreheads against one another, chests heaving. Cas plants one on Dean’s forehead and Dean blushes to his ears.

Some part of him expects the guilt to come rushing forth like it always does but it’s- it’s oddly quiet.

Until Cas says, with something like reverence in his voice, “That was… ” and then tails off like it's too much to qualify.

Dean huffs a laugh. “Sure was. Can you pass me that towel?”

“I’m afraid my legs are out of use at the moment.”

Dean snickers. He reaches out, snags the towel with the tips of his fingers.

“We should clean up. Sam sees us like this and he’s gonna bitch out.”

After a brief moment of Cas pouting impetuously, Dean kisses his nose, manages to get him on steady legs. Runs the towel over them both.

In silence, they start to pick up all the shit they knocked over in their haste. Dean sneaks glances at Cas’ still nude form. He gets caught after the third time and they share fond, bashful smiles.

***

It’s two weeks later, early enough that Sam’s out being a Yogi, or whatever. Dean knocks on the bathroom door.

“Hey buddy, you need help shaving again?” He says it a bit salaciously, but it’s a frank offer of help that Cas needs if he doesn’t want to butcher himself again.

Cas opens the door, towel slung low over his hips. His beard is gone. Cheeks freshly shaven, not a cut in sight.

“You-” Dean blinks. “You did it. Guess I’m a pretty good teacher, huh?”

Cas tilts his head, gaze astute.

Dean eyes him suspiciously.

“Wait. Did you…”

Cas' lips quirk like he's fighting a smile. Awareness dawns on Dean.

“You already knew…”

The towel drops with a flick of Cas’ fingers.

“Son of a-”

“Shut up and get in here.”


End file.
